


These Familiar Things

by disapparater



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Banter, Blow Jobs, Bottom Harry, Draco In Glasses, Established Relationship, Glasses sex, Libraries, M/M, Sex, Sexual Content, Teacher Draco, Teacher Harry, Top Draco
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-28
Updated: 2015-07-28
Packaged: 2018-04-11 17:50:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4445954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disapparater/pseuds/disapparater
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Despite being a teacher, despite a library full of students, despite the thoughts he's having, despite... well, a lot of things, Harry will always end up fighting with Draco.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Draco's Birthday 2015 at [dracomalfoy](http://dracomalfoy.livejournal.com/) and originally posted [here](http://dracomalfoy.livejournal.com/6717.html).  
> Thank you DC♥ and W♥ for convincing me this wasn't a complete pile of faeces.  
> Chapter two was a sneaky addition in the comments, and still is unbeta'd.

Dipping his quill into the red ink, Harry scrawls an A on the bottom of the parchment and draws a circle around it before putting it aside and reaching for the next essay. He's been giving a lot of 'Acceptable's lately, and he's starting to worry it's his poor teaching, rather than the ineptitude of his Charms students.

It doesn't help that Draco is sitting opposite, his own pile of Transfiguration essays neatly stacked and already marked. Draco's quill and ink have been packed away and a book lays open in front of him. Harry looks down at the half stack of essays he still has to wade through and sighs to himself.

Instead of reading the words in front of him, Harry looks out at the library. Madame Pince, only more sour in her old age, has command of the books. He and Draco have the Sunday afternoon shift; as teachers they have command of the students. The large room is as full of students as it ever gets, all having left their homework until the last minute. The reminder that by this time tomorrow he will have another stack of parchment to wade through is far too depressing, and Harry turns back to the table.

Staring off into space, Harry tries to clear his mind for a few minutes. He puts the side-effects of stunning charms to the back of his mind and lets his thoughts drift to soft caresses and muted moonlight. A kind of serenity floats through Harry.

A chair scrapes across the hard wooden floor nearby and the sound pulls Harry back to reality. As his eyes refocus he finds himself gazing at pale fingers curling around the top corner of a page. The fingers hold it there for a few seconds before they twitch, turning to the next. They run down the page, smoothing it out before finding their way to the next corner. Harry finds himself imagining those fingers running across his skin, pausing in some places, caressing others. Treating him as reverently as they do the pages of the book.

Forcing his eyes away as the fingers gently tap the paper, Harry instead lets his attention move to the wrist, up the arm. The bend of the elbow and the posture of the shoulder. The length of the neck, the smoothness of the cheek. And then he's looking at eyes, almost hidden by the slight reflection in a pair of reading glasses. They are looking down at the page, grey irises moving swiftly from right to left. Harry pictures those eyes pinned on him, looking him up and down and making an assessment. Reading him as intently as they are reading that book.

Slowly, Harry's gaze slips down the nose, to the little groove underneath, finally coming to rest on the lips. They are curved slightly on the left, as though they find something mildly amusing. Harry thinks about them giving him a real smile, kind words, a soft kiss. Finding Harry as enjoyable as the words he's reading.

Before he can start to ponder what else those lips might give him, Harry is distracted as they start to move. He frowns, confused for a few seconds. Suddenly Harry's focus is lost and the world comes rushing at him. The rustling of paper, the quiet coughs and scratches of quills seem so loud now Harry is paying attention to them.

There is another quietly insistent noise, though. Belatedly Harry realises the sound syncs with the movement of those lips.

“—even listening to a word I'm saying?”

Harry's snaps his gaze back up to those grey eyes to find Draco, glasses pulled slightly down his nose, staring right at him from over their rims.

“What?” whispers Harry across the table.

“I said,” Draco hiss-whispers back, “stop staring at me, it's putting me off.”

“Putting you off what? You're only reading.” Then, too late, Harry adds, “I wasn't staring.”

Draco tips his head forward and raises an eyebrow, but let's it go. “I'm working. This is a very interesting book on the complex theory of individual atom Trans—”

“Why are you always working?” Harry interrupts before Draco really gets going.

“Because some people enjoy their work.” Draco looks pointedly at Harry's pile of unmarked essays. “I can't decide if you dislike your work or if you're just lazy.”

“Neither.” Harry feels his voice rise to a stage whisper and reigns himself in. “I just don't want to spend _all_ my time working—I need to have a little fun.”

Draco's face becomes tight. “Are you saying I'm not fun? Because I made my fourth years breathless with laughter just last week when I transfigured Robert's hat into a stuffed baby Acromantula.”

Unbidden, a small smile pulls at Harry's lips. “But you do that every year.”

“I do not. Last year it's was Ewa's tie into a venomless Boomslang, the year before it was—”

“Okay, okay. But that's fun at someone else's expense.”

Draco blinks. “Your point being?”

Harry just shakes his head, still smiling slightly.

“ _My_ point,” continues Draco, “is that I have fun. In fact, I'm having fun right now.”

“Hissing at me over a table is fun?”

“When I'm proving you wrong, yes.”

“I never said you weren't fun,” Harry points out.

“You implied it.”

“You're just overly sensitive.” This is apparently the wrong thing to say.

“I have an emotional range beyond bored or amused,” Draco grits out, “that's not sensitivity.”

“You forgot pissed off. I can also feel pissed off.” Harry balls his hands into fists on the table top. “Starting to feel it right now, in fact.”

“Three entire emotions. I'd say you should be proud of yourself, but I think four would be pushing it.”

“Yeah, I'm good with pissed off for now.” Beneath the table Harry's foot lashes out and lands sharply against Draco's shin. Over Draco's hiss of pain Harry whispers a smug, “Does your emotional range reach regret?”

“It reaches vengeful, first.”

Harry senses rather than feels Draco's long legs reaching behind the front legs of Harry's chair. Before he can react, Harry's chair is being pulled tight under the table. It pulls Harry against the edge of the table, which digs uncomfortably into his lower ribs.

He's only a foot closer to Draco, but the look in Draco's eyes suddenly seems so much more intense. Despite the fact they are sitting down, they are both breathing heavily. Under the table their legs are pressed firmly together, and Harry's not altogether sure what makes him stroke one foot up Draco's calf. It only makes Draco pull a little harder on Harry's chair, and Harry let's out a gasp.

“Let me go,” Harry rasps.

The chair slips back, giving him room to breathe, but Draco's legs remain close.

“You should finish marking your essays,” Draco says without taking his eyes from Harry's.

“You should get back to your book.” Harry doesn't look away either.

It is as they sit there, staring at each other in silence, that Harry realises something is different. It really is silence—no rustling of paper, quiet coughs or scratching of quills. He swallows, suddenly broken from this moment here with Draco. He can see in Draco's eyes that he hears the too-quiet silence as well.

Harry turns, looking out to the rest of the library. Just as he'd feared, every person is silent and still, all eyes trained on him and Draco. From the back of the room a clear voice rings out.

“Just snog him, Sir!”

It's followed by a roomful of laughter. Harry catches Draco roll his eyes skyward and a faint blush appear on his cheeks as Harry ducks his head, feeling his own face heat.

Slowly, the quiet, regular rumblings of the library start up as people get back to what they were doing.

“Perhaps we should finish our work elsewhere?” whispers Draco as he checks his watch.

Harry's, “Yes, good idea,” barely makes it out of his mouth before he's on his feet, gathering up his essays.

They move swiftly towards the exit, but don't quite make it out before a wolf whistle can be heard drifting from the far side of the room.

The library door closes heavily behind them. Harry leans against it and let's out a deep sigh. “That was stupid; we should be more careful.”

“We?” Draco asks, incredulous. “It was all your fault.”

“What? How?” Harry pushes off of the door and steps towards Draco.

“You were staring at me,” Draco says, as if that explains it all. Which, teamed with the heated look he gives Harry, it does.

“I couldn't help it. You look so good when you read. So... intense.”

Draco gives him a knowing smile. “Were you jealous of a book, Harry?”

Harry scoffs. “Don't be stupid, Draco.”

“Come on, let's go back to your rooms.” Draco moves closer to Harry and looks at him over the rim of his reading glasses. “I'll show you how intense I can be.”

They stand like that for only a few more seconds before Harry smiles, takes his boyfriend's hand and leads the way.

The essays can wait.


	2. Chapter 2

After the show they put on in the library, Harry is seriously worked up. He has his hand wrapped tightly around Draco's, racing to get them back to Harry's room. If the way Draco is almost treading on Harry's heels is any indication, he is just as worked up.

They don't speak as they walk. They don't even try to hide—the hand holding, the quick pace—Harry can only hope they don't bump into anyone. Because it would be awkward to explain, but mostly because they have better things to do. Namely each other.

Luck is with them, and the halls are silent all the way to Harry's room. The only sounds they hear are their own swift footsteps and rapid breathing—which isn't caused by the speed with which they walk.

Once they're inside the room the door is slammed shut behind them, not that Harry pays it much mind. He's far too busy ripping open Draco's buttoned-up robes. Harry has become quite adept at sewing charms in the months he and Draco have been together. Draco is busy himself, his hands having already found their way into Harry's robes, they are now pulling at his belt.

With Draco's arms occupied, Harry is unable to pull his robes from his shoulders. Instead, he looks up at Draco, distracting him from his work on Harry's belt by leaning in, getting close, breathing lightly over Draco's lips. For a moment, they pause, the atmosphere suddenly changed. It holds, an infinity packed into a few short seconds, a seemingly endless anticipation. Then their lips meet and the moment breaks.

Now they are fighting. Fighting to get their clothes off, to get closer, to crawl inside one another. Their glasses clash as they kiss, fierce and desperate. Now time is flying. When Draco's cold, pale finger stroke over the skin of Harry's back, pulling him nearer, Harry only briefly wonders where his t-shirt went. When Harry finds Draco's smooth, curved buttock, he kneads his fingers into the flesh, heedless to how Draco's trousers came off.

Draco's hand travels lower, over Harry's lower back and the swell of his arse, comeing to rest in the crease at the top of his thigh. With a slight squeeze and stroke of his fingers, Draco has Harry moaning. In return, Harry bends his head, taking Draco's left nipple into his mouth and rolling it lightly between his teeth. A sharp intake of breath and a tightening of that hand is the response Harry gets.

In unspoken agreement they move towards the bed. It is a short-lived but awkward journey; their minds are too busy controlling groping hands and exploring mouths to put their feet into proficient action. Harry knows they've made it only when he falls, landing amongst his unmade sheets. Draco gives Harry no time to feel ashamed of his messy bed, in fact he's not sure Draco even notices. Instead his focus is on Harry's neck, as his tongue glides up and into Harry's ear. Harry's hips buck in response and their cocks rub together.

With another thrust of his hips Harry uses the momentum to push and twist, toppling them both to the right. Now Harry hovers over Draco, who lays on his back with a small grin on his face that makes Harry suspect this was exactly what Draco wanted. Draco opens his mouth to speak, but before he can, Harry closes his lips over Draco's and slips his tongue into his mouth. Draco groans, grabbing Harry's arse in both hands and grinding their cocks together.

Draco murmurs something against Harry's lips and Harry kisses him harder to shut him up. Now the hands on Harry's arse are pulling, and a cold, wet finger finds its way inside of Harry. With a gasp Harry pulls back from Draco's mouth, pushing himself back into that finger, that feeling, that fullness. It's already not enough, but Draco must know this because he adds a second finger, pushing deeply into Harry.

“Draco,” Harry breathes, “more.” He puts his hands on Draco's chest, sitting up and back, and only more firmly onto Draco's fingers.

“More,” Draco agrees, before Harry suddenly finds himself on his back again, three fingers inside him and his cock in Draco's mouth.

“Fuck, yes,” is the only coherent thing that makes it past his lips. The rest is moans and cries and whimpers. Draco takes him so deep Harry can feel his glasses pressing on his abdomen, and the only thing that stops him from coming right then is Draco's hand held firmly around the base of his cock.

Draco's mouth is gone too soon, but Harry doesn't care, because instead he feels the never soon enough sensation of Draco's cock pushing inside of him. As Draco fills Harry's arse, he leans down and presses his lips roughly against Harry's. It's messy and perfect.

When Harry feels Draco's pelvis against his arse, when he is full of Draco's cock, Draco tears his lips from Harry's and holds himself up on outstretched arms. Draco looks down at Harry through his reading glasses, reading Harry more intensely than he has ever read a book. He keeps looking as he pulls back, drawing himself out of Harry agonisingly slowly. Harry holds Draco's gaze only until he thinks Draco is going to pull all the way out. At that point he closes his eyes in anticipation of the hollow feeling he'll be left with. Instead, Draco thrusts swiftly back in and Harry's eyes snap open.

This time Draco's doesn't stop. He pulls out sharply before driving back in. Again. And again. Harry lifts his legs, pushing his hips forward to meet Draco, to take more of him. He looks up at Draco, he watches. Draco's chest, neck and face are covered in a sheen of sweat. His hair falls down into his eyes. But what holds Harry's attention is Draco's glasses.

With each thrust, the glasses slip a fraction down Draco's nose. Soon, Draco is gazing down at Harry over their rim. They gradually make their way over the bridge of Draco's nose. Harry is all but begging to come by the time Draco's glasses are resting on the tip of his nose. With one more forceful thrust they tumble from Draco's face, but Harry doesn't feel them land on his chest. Instead Harry feels the heat rush through him, from his balls, out of his cock and along every nerve in his body.


End file.
